defining nonduality & depth psychology

‍As I move deeper into inquiry at the intersection of nonduality and depth psychology, it has become apparent that my first task is to find some shape for these slippery terms. I won’t try to put them into firm boxes, but instead share the outlines I see. They will remain open for renegotiation, as the aim is exploration, not a destination. I’d love to hear from you about your own impressions and metaphors.

What is Nonduality?

Exploring the meaning of nonduality is strange; the inquiry calls into question the conventional signposts we use to orient ourselves in reality. We can try to define nonduality as a concept, but there is also an invitation to look into nonduality for oneself in this moment. You can describe a bear by its features and characteristics, defining its place in the scientific taxonomy of animals. It is a different thing entirely to point and shout, “There is a bear! Right there!” We can explore nonduality in both ways: to define the word, and to point to it as directly as possible.

It is striking that the word “nonduality” is a negation; it implies the impossibility of naming or defining this experience. The linguistic opposites of “duality”—oneness, wholeness, monism—are not adequate terms, as they lack dynamism and offer the rational mind too comfortable a resting place. A dualism is any pair of opposites defined in relation to one another: up/down, light/dark, right/wrong, left/right, life/death, self/other, subject/object, male/female, etc. Duality is built into the fabric of thinking and language (when used conventionally). Conceptualizing and organizing our experience through thought and language permeates how we perceive the world on a moment-to-moment basis. Our typical experience is that our “self” is a discrete subject, observing and interacting with objects outside of us.

Nonduality points to another level of experiencing, prior to and more fundamental than the dualistic activity of thinking, labeling, and discriminating. In nondual experience, one does not see one’s self as a subject interacting with objects. We sense that all activity in this moment is one unfolding aliveness. The experiencer, the experienced, and the act of experiencing are not inherently differentiated. There is just this. If you don’t break things up using concepts, what is this moment? You can look directly, for yourself. What and who are you, in the most concrete and direct sense, beyond and before all ideas? You may find that “you” are not distinguishable from “not you” at this level. It isn’t that “you” don’t exist, but you don’t exist the way you think, as something separate or permanent.

This realization is at the heart of Buddhist practice in the Zen tradition, and in all Mahayana Buddhist traditions. We call the direct, personal apprehension of nonduality Prajna (wisdom). To connect to this insight experientially is the essence of awakening or enlightenment. Enlightenment as a “thing” is itself transcended as one learns to integrate nondual experience with conventional experience, through practice. Experience beyond duality is not blankness or nihilism—it is far more dynamic and imbued with meaning than thoughts and concepts could ever be. Seeing through the ultimately quite flimsy idea of a separate, isolated self and separate, isolated others is the basis of true compassion and a firmly grounded, increasingly free responsiveness. It is the foundation of an ethical and liberating way of life.

It is common to struggle with this understanding because nonduality, by definition, is not penetrable by rational understanding. Most of us live most of the time entranced by the spell that linguistic description and categorization are equivalent to reality. Upon closer examination this is certainly not the case. As an example, imagine you are very thirsty on a hot day and you come upon a friend who has several bottles of cold, clean water. If they allow you to look at the water, and they describe the water to you in intense detail, it will never quench your thirst (and will probably make you very irritated with your friend). If you can get them to quiet down and give you a drink, you will feel for yourself the cold liquid in your mouth, flowing into your body. In that moment, there is no water, there is no you, there is only the drinking.

There is no hierarchy implied between direct experience (nonduality), often associated with right-brain processing, and the thinking, labeling, categorizing functions of mind which are associated with left-brain processing. Both are necessary. Problems arise, though, when our dualistic processing becomes so dominant that we lose touch with the concrete, unfolding reality that is being processed. This imbalance seems to be growing at a mass cultural scale. We can easily end up very thirsty in the deepest parts of our being, offered and offering only descriptions of water to quench this thirst. In order to be in touch with our true wholeness and freedom, it may be necessary to return home to the most basic truth of being alive: we are here, right now.

What is Depth Psychology?

‍ ‍Depth psychology is concerned with the flow of unconscious forces through the lives of individuals, dyads, groups, cultures, and history. The unconscious is a highly amorphous concept, perhaps because we are trying to define something that we can’t ever actually see or experience directly. We can only be aware of its impact, without ever really grabbing hold of it. In one sense, the unconscious may be whatever we are experiencing that we aren’t aware of. A very concrete example would be the feel of the clothes you’re wearing. It is there, but generally you aren’t conscious of it. The feel of your shirt on your skin is unconscious unless you try to pay attention. There are, perhaps, many such forces operating outside our awareness on an emotional and relational level. We wear many metaphorical shirts that are less available to perception than our clothing. These forces profoundly influence our perceptions, thoughts, feelings, and behavior without our ever realizing it.

My personal understanding and experience is that there is more to our lives that is unconscious than conscious. The fullness of (individually and collectively experienced) life is like the ocean, and the part we are aware of is the surface. The surface of the ocean, the life and self and relationships we can know, is real and dynamic, vast and complex. The ocean beneath the surface is unfathomably deep, mysterious, and unknowable. There are entire ecosystems that can never be witnessed from the surface, but nonetheless have incredibly important impacts on what happens there. The reality, I believe, is that we can never fully know ourselves or each other. This may be disturbing to think about, but can also be profoundly liberating. While we have responsibility for our actions, there is a sense that we are guided by forces far beyond our knowing and control.

There comes an issue, though, when we (try to) force things into the unconscious realm that are meant to be integrated into our conscious self. This is called repression. Repression is attempted when we have memories, feelings, thoughts, impulses, or fantasies that we believe are not acceptable, or that overwhelm our capacity to cope. This could work out great, except that repression, in general, does not work. Keeping up repression requires the use of a variety of mechanisms that defend against the warded off material floating to the surface. This can be anything from cracking a joke that lowers tension to getting blackout drunk. Repressed feelings and impulses do not go away; they intensify and come out indirectly. This can take infinite shapes in a person’s life. Psychoanalytic theory has generated a huge and (perhaps overly) sophisticated system to categorize repressive and defensive energies.

A common example that I see often in my clinical practice in a thousand variations is this: A child may be the victim of emotional or physical violence or neglect at the hands of a caregiver they love and depend on. Simultaneously, they are taught that anger is not an appropriate or acceptable response. This child will experience profound hurt and anger at the injustice and indignity, but they learn that they must never express this. Often, they will try to repress their pain and rage, and the guilt they have about these feelings. As they move through adult life, they will of course face some amount of injustice and indignity, which will trigger pain, anger, and guilt. But these feelings, which are deemed unacceptable, will be disturbing and anxiety-provoking. To keep these feelings and anxiety out of awareness, the person might criticize and invalidate their own perspective; they might turn to drinking, drugs, or risky compulsive behavior; they may act out violently; or they might avoid depending on or deeply relating to the people in their life (the possibilities are endless). This is a very oversimplified example but points to the general activity of repression and its detriments.

The repressed unconscious is not the only unconscious, but it is important to understand. When worked with skillfully, repressed and avoided content can be repatriated and integrated into one’s sense of self. Left unexamined and unattended, the parts of ourselves we try to push away end up ruling our lives. As repression becomes less dominant or necessary, the barrier between the conscious and unconscious becomes depressurized and more fluid, so we can live with more spontaneity, openness, and intimacy.

Two, Not Two

‍ ‍Looking at the practices of nonduality and depth psychology as two separate, perhaps related concepts is helpful for analysis, but it may ultimately be an arbitrary distinction. The spirit of each is to travel as deeply and meaningfully as possible into the experience of being human, to relieve suffering, and to increase one’s capacity for compassion, connection, and an ethical, love-oriented life. At times, what is called for is the recognition of the absolute: the nondual awareness of the wholeness and immediacy of our lives. At other times, it is skillful to attend to the relative— to who we are as individuals, including our psychological-emotional history and habits.

The next two essays will look at the relationship between nonduality and depth psychology from each perspective— what does depth psychology have to offer practitioners of Zen and other nondual oriented traditions? What does nonduality have to show therapists and theorists in the lineage of depth psychology? My hope is to recognize the inherent harmony between these ways of thinking and working, and to use this synergy in ways that promote deep wisdom and healing.